Page 4 of Wolfish Player
But the more successful I became—the more books that sold and the more deals that came in—the tighter fear wrapped its hand around my writing hand and my heart. It has yet to let me go.
As I’m readjusting the frame that holds my favorite story—a romantic suspense saga that’s sold eighty copies to date—I feel my phone buzzing in my pocket.
My best friend and literary agent, Joanna.
“Hey there,” I answer, and her face instantly appears on my screen. “What’s up?”
“A lotttt!” She’s always super dramatic. “I have good news, great news, and some super awful news.”
“What’s the great news?”
“I finally got a stylist to give me a haircut I actually love!” She shakes her head back and forth. “The layers are perfect and the highlights are divine.”
“It does look great on you… What’s the good news?”
“I bought a bottle of your favorite wine. I have a feeling it might come in handy soon.”
“Um, okay… Thank you very much.” I hesitate, waiting for the real reason. “What’s the super awful news?”
“Your publisher is refusing to give you another writing extension. They said ‘hell no’ to every request I made.”
“So, they want me to turn in an unfinished manuscript next month?”
“No, they um… they don’t even want the book anymore.” She pauses. “They just want their money back.”
“Wait, what?”
“You can pay it in installments,” she says quickly. “They’re willing to accept it over a nine-month period. So, do you want to send me a check so I can submit part of it today?”
“Define ‘part of it.’”
“Like, ten thousand in good faith?”
“Um…” I blink, mentally calculating what I can spare. “What about ten dollars?”
“Come again?”
“I can maybe swing fifty, but… um… I don’t really have extra money outside of my mortgage and bills for the rest of the year, you know?”
“No, I don’t know, Heather.” She sucks in a breath. “We just went on a week-long trip to Hawaii!”
“That was for writing inspiration.”
“Did you get any?”
“I wrote five new words this morning.”
“Five thousand, you mean?”
“Your use of numbers is triggering my anxiety…”
“You told me you had chapter one finished last month.” She narrows her eyes. “You literally said, ‘Oh my gosh! I’m making so much progress and I just finished chapter one.’”
“No, I said I’d written the words ‘chapter one.’”
“Oh my effin god, Heather…” She sucks in a breath, and I can’t tell if she’s seconds away from yelling or rushing over to strangle me. Probably both.
“How much of your book is actually done, as of today?” She keeps her voice calm. “If I wanted to send a partial to the publisher as a Hail Mary, how many words would I be sending?”
